A sick feeling coursed through Lauren, settling in her stomach. She showed the velvet case no such care as she had done the dress. She yanked it open and stared at its contents.
A diamond necklace, with matching earrings and bracelet. The name of the top designer in gold threading on the velvet case was redundant to Lauren. She knew this particular design too well. Tears that she dare not shed choked up her throat.
He remembered her obsession with diamonds.
Every surface in her apartment in Queens was littered with brochures and catalogs from the top diamond galleries of the world. It was her guilty pleasure to spend a lazy evening in her recliner, going through the catalogs, marking the ones she liked, while in reality, she didn’t own a tiny pendant.
The diamonds glittered and winked at her as she closed the lid, struggling to keep a check on her unraveling temper.
Did he think she would be softened by this blatant display of wealth, that she would forget everything that had happened? That he could buy her off with expensive gifts?
The fact that he remembered her obsession plunged the stab of his betrayal a little deeper. Whatever he said now, whatever he did, she had to remember that he’d made the choice to cut her out of his life with little regret. That he’d suspected her of the worst.
She dropped the velvet case onto the tray on the bed. “Please instruct her to take it back, Farrah, and to inform His Highness that I don’t intend to see him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.”
CHAPTER FOUR
LAUREN TIED THE sash on the plush thigh-length robe and walked into the sitting area of her suite. With another plush towel, she rubbed the wetness out of her hair. She would have lingered another hour in the marble tub, playing and luxuriating in the innumerable jets and settings, if she wasn’t scared she would turn into a prune. “That marble tub is decadent, Farrah.”
“I’m glad something in my palace gives you pleasure, Lauren.”
Husky, honeyed—his tone sent waves of sensation rollicking over her already tingly flesh. Her knees wobbled. She pulled her towel off her face, her cheeks tightening with heat.
Uncurling himself from the velvet armchair, Zafir cut a direct path toward her, his gaze traveling over her with a thoroughness that instantly put her on edge. Flaring with shock, Farrah’s gaze volleyed between them.
“Leave us, Farrah.” He threw the command without turning his thoroughly disconcerting gaze from Lauren.
“I have nothing to say to you that Farrah can’t—”
“I have,” he said, stopping a few inches from her. Farrah had already gathered her things and quietly exited the room.
His hair still wet, he smelled so good that her stomach did a funny flip.
In a light brown V-neck T-shirt and tight blue jeans, he looked sexy and approachable. Like delicious dark chocolate that she wanted to sink her teeth into. The shirt exposed the strong column of his throat, hugged the hard contours of his chest and muscled abdomen.
Her throat dry, Lauren tucked her hands at her sides and tugged her gaze up.
His tawny gaze glinted with incinerating warmth, a hint of mockery in the grooves around his mouth. It swept over her with invasive familiarity, lingering far too long over the opening in her robe.
Her pulse went haywire, a new kind of oxygen deprivation drying her mouth now.
She tugged at the sash holding it together, the soft silk burning against her overheated skin. His hand shot out to her cheek in a quick movement, too fast for her hazy senses to grasp. Every cell in her being pushed her into leaning into his touch and she resisted it. Just.
When he touched her, his movements were gentle, tracing the circles she sported under her eyes. “You look awful.” He said this in a tone that spoke of regret. As if it hadn’t been in his power to not hurt her. As if he hadn’t made that choice himself.
She stepped back. “Thanks for noticing, Your Highness, and for deigning to see me,” she drawled. “I should curtsy, but seeing that you had me locked up here for two days, I’m not in the mood. Instruct your staff to release me. I want to leave, at once.”
A frown twisted his brows and then smoothed down. Her hands instantly went to her midriff and that incisive gaze followed. She pretended to secure the knot of her robe, her fingers shaking. Heat flushed her from within when he moved closer again, triggering every nerve into a hyper-aware state, stealing rational thought.
“Stop that,” she said softly, suddenly wishing the dark stranger from that afternoon back. She wanted to be angry with him, she was, yet her body seemed disjointed from her mind.
He raised his hands like shields, a butter-won’t-melt expression on his face. “Stop what?”